


Troubled Waters

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Case Fic, Drama, Drinking Games, Gen, Kissing, Post-The Hanging Tree, nightingale pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: The trouble all started when Beverley kissed Nightingale.





	

The weather was starting to turn warmer at last and I had foregone my coat in favour of a light jacket and decided to walk to my appointment at Covent Garden. As usual the tourists were in abundance and I recognised a few plain clothes officers mingling in the crowds who nodded to me but thankfully didn't require my assistance – my contact can be very jittery and doesn't like it if I am late.

I was speculating therefore along those lines when Beverley Brook approached me just as I entered the pub, not paying more than the instinctive attention to a crowd of people that has been ingrained in me after years of service.

That of course was why I took Beverley Brook's assertion that “there's a perfectly good explanation for this” at face value, even as she leaned forward and kissed me. It was perfunctory at best, a quick press of lips and I didn't move to hold her back, trusting that a perfectly good explanation would indeed be forthcoming. A few seconds later she was stepping away from me and there was a corresponding shout from a group of young people in the corner.

I raised an eyebrow and waited.

“It's a drinking game,” she explained. “I had to kiss the first person who came in. Of course it would be you.” She rolled her eyes, both I imagined at the inanity of the game as much as the annoyance of my presence.

“I see,” I replied. “Well, if that's all, I do have an appointment.”

“You're not meeting Peter?”

“I left him studying in the library.”

She nodded satisfied, and then turned back to her friends. “Um, no need to mention this to him, is there?”

“Mention what?” I asked and she laughed and completed her move away from me.

I'd been involved in worse drinking games in my life when I was Beverley's age so I immediately dismissed it from my mind and concentrated on what information my contact could provide as pertaining to the location of Lesley May and Martin Chorley.

In hindsight, this was a mistake.

* * * * *

It was two days later when the matter of the kiss suddenly became an issue. Peter was sitting at the breakfast table before me, an unusual occurrence on most days – the only other time he's been that focused was immediately after Lesley May's betrayal, a time I still don't feel I handled as well as I could have. Sometimes Peter is a complete mystery to me.

His feelings weren't hard to discern that morning however, as he sat slumped in his chair, his breakfast untouched on the plate.

“Peter, has something happened?” I asked, taking my customary seat across from him.

For an answer he pushed across his mobile phone. Even though I could see what the problem was I still picked it up and studied it. Someone had taken a very good quality photograph of myself and Beverley kissing.

“Ah,” I said. “Beverley was merely taking part in a drinking game with her friends.”

“I didn't think you were having an affair,” he replied, with a somewhat hollow laugh.

“Quite.” I passed the phone back over the table. “Do you know who sent it?”

“Don't recognise the number,” he said. “Probably one of her friends.”

“Probably,” I agreed. I suppose I imagined that if this had ever come up Peter would laugh about it and that would be the end of it, this reaction was somewhat worrying.

“And the two of just decided not to tell me about it?”

I just managed to stop myself from saying that it was only a kiss. “It happened the evening after the snakes incident,” I told him. “It didn't even register in my top ten of odd occurrences that week.”

That did make him smile, which is what I'd been hoping for.

“I'm sorry,” I said, “really. I was meeting one of my sources and it had gone out of my head by the time I left the pub.”

He shrugged. “It doesn't really matter. Why did someone send me a photo though?”

I know never to take Peter's word on matters pertaining to his emotions at face value but for the moment I decided to let him think I was going to let the issue rest; keeping him busy is often the key to understanding what he's thinking.

“Perhaps you can find out the name of the sender?” A thought occurred to me and I started to replay my movements over that evening. “It is possible they were following me, in order to get at my contact.”

That made Peter look up and the familiar light in his eyes appeared. “Who were you meeting?”

“I swore an oath to protect their identity,” I said, and Peter nodded his understanding. “But they thought they might have a lead on Martin Chorley's location.”

“So Chorley might want them dead?”

“Possibly. Or there is the chance the source's family were not pleased with him talking to a police officer.” I paused. “And especially not with me.”

“I'll see what I can find out about the sender,” Peter said. At least he looked a little brighter now.

“Thank you. I'll check in with my contact, and make sure they're safe.”

Peter started to move off and I considered calling him back, but really I had no idea what I would say, so I didn't do anything at all.

Taking on an apprentice has been far harder than I ever imagined.

* * * * *

I'm afraid I was more circumspect with Peter than perhaps the situation warranted, but I did swear to protect my source, who as a member of the fae had a lot to be lost by associating with myself. Of course if Peter had been his usual self he would no doubt have wrangled the information out of me.

I however could not sit there moping forever and so headed out to Lewisham. On a certain road on a certain street is a lamppost by a children's play area. It was there that I produced a small werelight and attached it to the lamppost. Any passer-by would assume the light had merely malfunctioned and not turned off in the daylight. My source would realise different and call the Folly.

I hoped.

* * * * *

I was just thinking about getting some lunch before checking in with Peter when I sensed, rather than saw, the presence of a _genius loci._ I don't worry as much as I used to that I instinctively know these things. Generally I put it down to experience. Or perhaps it's simply because I'm always expecting Lady Ty to appear like the proverbial penny around any corner I happen to find myself.

“What the hell is this?” she asked me as way of greeting, thrusting a mobile phone in my face. How I wished I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I walked into the middle of a drinking game with one of Beverley's friends. It's really of no consequence.”

“No consequence? Do you think the Commissioner feels the same way?”

That did give me pause. “The Commissioner was sent a copy?”

“ _Everybody_ was sent a copy,” she snapped. “The Commissioner, the Belgravia murder team, my sisters, my _mother_.” I could feel the river beneath our feet in the sewers quiver, but since it wasn't her river I decided to ignore that for the moment. “If it was anybody else...” she started to say, leaving her threat hanging in the wind. Quite what she imagined she'd be able to do to me personally, I don't know, and nor do I particularity wish to find out.

“Cecelia...”

“Don't bloody Cecelia me,” she said. “This is your mess. Fix it.”

She stormed off before I could think of anything to say. I realise her animosity is largely borne out of protectiveness for her family, but it really can be quite exhausting being the focus of her ire so often.

* * * * * *

Concerned by the recent developments I found myself sitting outside of Beverley Brook's house, parked next to Peter's car. I tried to convince myself one way or another whether this was a good idea. Perhaps waiting for Peter to come to me was better, but if my contact were indeed in trouble I owed it to them to help. So I got out of the car and rang the doorbell.

Beverley answered, looking relaxed in jeans and a We Run Tinz top that I knew better than to ask about.

“He's in the kitchen,” she said, and padded there barefoot. I followed, taking in the slight lived in messiness and the feeling of home the walls were sending out. It was my first time inside; I'd long felt that Peter needed his own space to retreat to and this seemed to be fitting the purpose admirably. I just hoped that by crossing the threshold I wasn't disturbing a carefully balanced agreement.

“Do you want tea?” Beverley asked me. “No obligation, etc. etc.,” she added.

I looked towards where Peter was sitting with a laptop – given that there were stickers such as “Be the solution to water pollution” and “Think blue and go green” plastered all over it I surmised that this was Beverley's.

Peter apparently hadn't noticed my entrance – I knew him too well to believe he was deliberately giving me the silent treatment, so I looked towards Beverley for guidance.

“It's fine,” Beverley said. Then she prodded Peter gently in the head. “We have company.”

Peter looked up and appeared genuinely happy to see me, which I suppose was all I had been looking for.

“Peter,” I said, “have you found anything relevant?”

“Sir! Yes, um, well, we've established who didn't send the text. Any of Bev's friends from her course.”

“Not surprising,” I said, sitting down in the chair Beverley steered me towards and accepting gratefully a cup of tea. “I'm afraid the photo has been more widely circulated.”

“Why do I have a really bad feeling about this?” Peter asked.

“Lady Ty stopped me in the street. Evidently she, and the rest of her family have received copies.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Beverley said, slumping into a chair. “All of them?”

“I believe so. As well as the Commissioner and evidently a large proportion of the police officers we work with.”

Beverley dropped her head to the table and despite the seriousness of the situation I couldn't help but smile at her reaction. It was when Peter grinned at me with his usual exuberance that I felt the tension in my stomach let up a little.

“Did you find your contact?” Peter asked me.

“They haven't responded to my message yet. But it's probably too early to start worrying.”

“But you're worried,” Peter said.

I nodded and concentrated on my tea for a few moments. “I hate to think I may have put them in danger by not paying proper attention to my surroundings.”

“Well, Bev's kisses can be kind of distracting,” Peter agreed and I found myself smiling along with him. Poor Beverley just looked distraught.

“I hate you both,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the fact she was still leaning her head against the table. “Do you know how much shit I'm going to get for this? God, why'd I agree to it anyway? It was all bloody Lawrence's fault.”

“Lawrence?” Peter asked. “I don't remember him being on your list.”

Beverley sat up suddenly, jostling the table. “That's because he's not on our course. He's always hanging out in the library and he just sort of tagged along. I think Melanie fancies him.” She looked over at me. “It was his idea I kiss the first person that came through the door.”

“Do you remember where he was sitting when he said that?” I asked.

“He had a good view of the street. He'd have seen you coming.”

“Which rather begs the question, how did he know who I was?”

* * * * *

It didn't take long for Peter to discover where this Lawrence Bradbury lived and it took as equally a little amount of time for Beverley to convince Peter and myself that she should tag along when we went to see him. I think Peter in particular was suspicious at my agreement to her presence, but there has to come a time when our stakeholders are given a voice, and this seemed as a good a time as any.

Besides, I'm not sure I had the wherewithal to refuse Beverley at that moment.

Peter's phone beeped with an incoming message as we prepared to leave the Jag and he swore under his breath.

“We can add Mum and Dad to the list of people who've received copies,” he said. “Mum wants to know if you've been taking advantage of Beverley.”

“Does she really ask that?” I replied, only for it to be confirmed when Peter showed me the message. “Oh, well, I trust you'll set her straight.”

“Doesn't she know he's old enough to be my granddad?” Beverley asked with what I must say was a rather unflattering expression on her face.

Peter shrugged. “Age differences aren't a big deal to Mum.”

I've always found Peter's mother to be a straight forward if sometimes frighteningly intense woman but I had felt our relationship was on a footing where she wouldn't believe me capable of such a thing. But then, as Peter often reminds me, my experiences of the world and his mother's are very different.

“I'll explain,” Beverley said, and took Peter's phone out of his hand. She disappeared a little way away from the car so we couldn't hear what she was saying.

“I'm sorry,” Peter said, “about earlier. I know you wouldn't...I knew there was a rational explanation, and I know you don't keep things from me.”

I had to smile at that, though a little sadly. “Peter, I keep things from you all the time.”

Peter nodded to himself. “Yeah, but you always have a good reason.”

Sometimes Peter's faith in me is most alarming.

* * * **

It was apparent to all three of us as soon as Lawrence Bradbury opened the door that he was under the influence of _seducere_ and we would not be getting any sense out of him any time soon. Particularly since as soon as he saw me he began to punch himself in the face.

“He wasn't like that before,” Beverley said, as Peter restrained him and moved him backwards to his bedroom.

“I believe you,” I replied, following Peter. Lawrence had started to calm down but was now babbling under his breath. “The days of the week in Ancient Greek,” I told them.

“Chorley?” Peter asked me.

“I wouldn't put it past him,” I replied.

“So what's this all about?” Beverley asked. “Just a power play to remind us he can find us whenever he wants?”

“I rather think he's been using this as an excuse to keep us all distracted. Not just the Folly but the wider community. I suggest we ensure Mr Bradbury here isn't going to be a danger to himself and then try and work out just what Chorley's next move has been.”

* * * * *

Chorley's next move had proven to be masterminding one of the largest burglaries in British legal history. He had accomplices of course, who he allowed to be arrested since he no doubt never showed them his face, but there was a great deal of money and jewellery missing and many people who had safe deposit boxes in Hatton Garden never came forward; if someone had been keeping magical artefacts there, they were now in Chorley's possession.

I was called in to examine the site and the magic use was unmistakable. It was quite impressive really, the combination of scientific and magical ingenuity giving Peter yet more reasons to get distracted.

Quite what on earth he needed all that money for I couldn't begin to determine though the Commissioner made it clear in no uncertain terms that if he could make the Folly repay it all he would. I spared Peter the need to face the Commissioner, I've seen enough come and go to know that it's the officers on the front line whose opinion is most important.

So it was with not a little trepidation that Peter and I attended Belgravia station to consult on a murder. Judging by the way Peter's shoulders slumped he was as unsurprised as I was to find a rather large blown up picture of myself and Beverley on the noticeboard at the far end of the room.

“I'm surprised you didn't get it made into t-shirts,” I said to the room at large, startling Peter and the other officers into laughing and David Carey quickly pulled it down and threw it into the bin.

“If you've all got that piece of bloody foolishness out of your systems,” Seawoll said, in his usual brusque manner, “we've got a murder to solve.” He shot me what I decided to consider a supportive glance before asking Sahra to hand over the relevant evidence bag. She, I noted had been with Seawoll in his office and therefore had not taken part in displaying the picture. Which I didn't find surprising in the least, she has always struck me as a perfectly capable and sensible officer, a much better foil to Peter's enthusiasm than Lesley May ever was.

As it was evident to myself and Peter that this was indeed one of our cases none of us had much time to spare for thinking of anything else, though I did take a detour while Peter was making enquiries to see if I could track down my contact.

Thankfully I was able to do so on my third attempt and after some persuasion they told me the location of Martin Chorley. Unfortunately he and Lesley May had already moved on, no doubt to somewhere more befitting of their recent haul.

* * * * *

It was around two weeks after what Peter had taken to calling The Incident that Beverley Brook appeared on our door step. I was hard pressed to remember the last time she stepped inside and she was clearly uncomfortable.

“Come on,” she said, “we're going to the pub.”

“We are?” I asked,

“Yep. Peter, get a move on.”

Peter appeared behind me, clearly as lost as I was. Beverley however put her hands on her hips and glared at us and I had the distinct feeling that if she wanted it it would be Beverley taking over from her mother rather than Lady Ty as everyone seemed to expect.

“I should probably tell Molly if we're going to be out,” I said.

“No need, she already knows.”

Of course she does, I thought, but kept it to myself. I'm really rather pleased that Molly has some female friends but I must admit that Peter's natural curiosity has a habit of rubbing off on you if you spend enough time around him; I've stopped myself more than once about to ask her a question I probably shouldn't. So far our delicate balance has not been disturbed.

Peter looked over at me, unsure I thought of how he was supposed to feel about this development. I could sympathise.

Beverley opened the door and held it open, leaving us no option really but to follow. It didn't take us long to realise we were turning to the scene of The Incident.

“Really?” Peter asked but Beverley just put her hand in his and pulled him into the pub. I took a more sedate approach, and kept my eyes peeled for any suspicious looking excitement at our entrance.

Peter was sent off to fetch the drinks while Beverley and I found a quiet corner seat by the window.

“How is your course, going?” I asked.

“Good thanks. I'm really enjoying it.” She then spent the next few minutes going over something she'd learned from her latest lecture which I'm afraid I rather lost the thread of. Not an uncommon occurrence these days.

“I don't think he wants to hear about any of that,” Peter said, depositing our drinks on the table.

“It was most informative,” I replied, but I don't think either of them were fooled.

“Have you got any more leads on Chorley?” Beverley asked.

Peter shook his head. “We can't talk about that.”

Beverley looked at me.

“We can't talk about it,” I repeated.

Beverley sighed but didn't push the matter. “To think I thought Lesley was a friend.”

“She had us all fooled,” Peter said, staring morosely down at his drink. Beverley put her hand over his and kept it there. I was reminded once again what a good fit these two young people are.

“She can't remain hidden for ever,” I said.

The truth was the longer Lesley May remained in the wind, the longer I had to consider my own treatment of her. I can't pretend I was pleased to learn that Peter had taught her magic and perhaps I failed to keep my feelings hidden. A teacher should never show favouritism but I've never known one who didn't; it's hard to imagine Lesley not knowing that Peter will always be my favourite apprentice, no matter how many I may take on in the future.

“Is your source all right?” Beverley asked me, trying to change the subject.

“Yes, thank you. I managed to track them down. They've decided to take a break out of the city for a few weeks. But,” here I shifted a little to face Peter, “they did say they would be willing to meet with my apprentice next time.”

Peter immediately perked up. “Does this mean I'm finally going to get a name? Or a species?”

I smiled. “That depends on how quickly you master the next forma.”

Peter has this expression, when he's pleased but suspicious of the feeling all at the same time. He was wearing it now, until Beverley distracted him by pulling him into a kiss. I had to admire the technique, even if I wasn't quite sure where to look.

“This calls for a toast,” Beverley said, moving away with a smirk. “To the Nightingale and his starling.”

Peter groaned good-naturedly and I tried not to smile too much. I have to admit I have rather become fond of the nickname, though I'd never dream of using it myself.

“To my dedicated apprentice,” I said, raising my wine glass and touching it against Beverley's beer bottle. We waited expectantly for Peter who sighed and lifted his own beer.

“To...to two of my favourite people,” he settled on and clinked his glass against ours.

After that we spent a pleasant couple of hours talking where I made mental notes to research online some of the things Beverley was studying and some of the theories Peter was interested in before I decided to leave them to it and headed back home where Molly was waiting with a fresh pot of coffee.

Whatever else they may have planned for us in the future I was confident that if Martin Chorley and Lesley May sought to divide us, they would not succeed. We would not let them.


End file.
